When you hand me the grocery bag
I grab where you grab still warm
And i take the residual heat home
With the receipt.
I occasionally enjoy overloading the
washing machine and contemplating its struggle
While bleach and detergent douse my wounds
And its esophagus.
In the morning, we unwrap each other
And I pressure-test my lips
On your hip that has nascent prickles
At the market, the lychee stack so naturally.
My pillow looks strange
After you sleep on it i cannot reshape it
Your negative remarks of permanence
At the vigil, they wash everything
but we remain stained
stacked so naturally.